No Greater Promise
by Angeli
Summary: Frodo battles the weight of guilt as he ponders what Sam left behind to instead stay by his side. non-slash.


No Greater Promise By Angeli  
  
Author's Notes: This is not a slash, I just want to make that clear. A bit angsty.Frodo's thoughts as he and Sam take a short rest and he ponders all that Sam has left behind, feeling very much responsible and bearing a terrible weight of guilt. Feedback is appreciated, flames are not.  
  
Disclaimer: Characters are Tolkien's, but this story is mine.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
"I made a promise, Mr. Frodo. A promise! 'Don't you leave him, Samwise Gamgee.' And I don't mean to! I don't mean to."  
  
Oh Sam, did you know when you made such a promise you'd being following me to the gates of Hell?  
  
I look at your face as we sit upon the rocks, indulging in a short moment's rest from our rock climb. A comfortable silence lays between us, comfortable but pregnant, filled with unvoiced thoughts and questions and concerns. I watch as you take a thoughtful drink of water. Oh, what a refreshing joy and terrible instigation of guilt and sorrow it is to look at you, Samwise Gamgee. I see the loyalty you are so quick to exhibit at my need, and I see the fierce determination that keeps that overloaded knapsack on your tired shoulders and those feet roaming over sharp and jagged rocks. It's a determination that keeps you close at my side at all times. Oh but Sam, my dear Sam, when I look so much deeper I see the Shire. I see the rolling hills of lush and vibrant green. I see the trees, their emerald leaves swaying and murmuring lazily in the afternoon breeze. I see the gardens, your beloved gardens, with flowers that only you could have cared for because they have grown so strong and so beautiful. I see the river singing summer songs to travelers on the dirt path as they walk. I see the people, bustling through the streets and about their homes, their smiles bright and their laughter carefree. The Shire is in your eyes, Samwise, and to see it flickering there in hopeful and living memory brings my heart such a deep guilt.  
  
I know what you would say, if you knew what I was thinking. 'You needn't say such things, Mr. Frodo! Guilt, sir? Chase that thought out of your head! If Gandalf hadn't pulled me in that window and set my feet a'travelin' beside yours, then you know as well as I that I would have followed you anyway, and no mistake.'  
  
But even as you speak I hear it. I hear the familiar clamor of voices in the market streets, or the sound of the whistling breeze. It lives in your voice now, Sam, a sweet and haunting reminder of what beauty looks like in such a barren and forsaken land. A bitter smile crosses my lips, though by now I have turned so you will not see it. How can I not feel guilt, Sam, when I hear and see the Shire in you? Every time you speak, every time you look at me, stand near me, even breathe I am reminded of what you have been taken away from, of what you may never be able to see again, of what you may die never knowing the fate of. That is where my guilt lies. Oh Sam, you could have stayed. If only I had found a way to insist you stay home. I could have, and you know it. Had I been forceful and fierce enough, you would have stayed in that beautiful Shire. The home I took you away from.wrenching you from green trees and lazy rivers so you could traverse these shadowed, accursed mountains with a tortured traveling companion. Oh Sam! If only you had stayed home! I shut my eyes firmly, my back turned to you.  
  
"Mr. Frodo?"  
  
I have no idea what has shaken you out of your thoughtful state, but now I can feel your alert and concern as you stare at my back. I purse my lips, feeling tears beginning to form in my eyes. I cannot bear so much like this.  
  
"Mr. Frodo, sir, what is it?"  
  
Such innocence in that voice, such kindness. More than I have shown to you since this journey began, and more than I can ever repay. I turn my head farther away, not wishing you to see my tears again. You have bourn enough, dear friend.  
  
But you are always so persistent. I feel your hand on my shoulder, a strong and reassuring grip I had at one time come to take advantage of for its familiarity. However, I am just as stubborn as you are, and I do not move to meet your gaze or even turn in your direction. I let some sort of a mutter of apathetic dismissal pass my lips, a sound I can't even convince my self with, let alone my dear Sam. You know me too well by now.  
  
"Frodo, please! Whatever it is, you can tell your Sam!"  
  
I can hear the desperate level of your concern in the use of my name without a formal title before it. I can feel you turning my shoulders to face you and I don't have the strength left to argue with you. I let my eyelids part, letting in a blurred, swirling light, and I feel several tears slip down my cheeks as I do. Looking up, I struggle to see a clear vision of your face, for my eyesight now swims with tears of guilt and anger with myself for both lack of resolve and lack of resistance against your concern.  
  
I don't have to see your face clearly to feel your worry, though, and to feel the sudden desperate need to find a way to comfort me. It seems, Sam, that I, as well, have come to know you too well. I bend my head partly in a sort of shame and partly due to the fact that I can't bring myself to look at you any longer. But you stubbornly refuse to let the issue alone, especially now that you have seen my tears. I feel you kneel down in front of me, taking both my hands and holding them firmly in yours.  
  
"Frodo."  
  
"Please, Sam," I whisper, pleading. I cannot do this.but you still do not move away, and hold my hands tighter in yours.  
  
"It will pass," I insist, but as my vision clears I can see I am not convincing you in the slightest bit.  
  
"Mr. Frodo you have never had to hide from me before; now's no different."  
  
"Oh, Sam," I sob, saline trails forming on my cheeks, ".if only you had stayed in the Shire."  
  
I can see hurt lacing itself into the depths of your eyes, and I bite my lip, inwardly beginning to hate myself. Frodo, a master of words, reduced to stammering and choosing all the wrong things to say.  
  
But the hurt begins to slowly evaporate into remote understanding. "What good would that 'ave done, Mr. Frodo?"  
  
"You'd be safe in your home right now, instead of wandering through these accursed lands and running from terrible creatures and heading to what will almost certainly be your doom in a mountain synonymous with such. You'd still have your gardens, Sam, and -"  
  
"Mr. Frodo, stop." Perhaps one of a very, very small number of times you have ever allowed yourself to interrupt me, much less even to defy me. A fierce resolve has entered your eyes, and you reach out to grip my shoulders tightly.  
  
"If I'd stayed in the Shire, and if I'd not come with you, I'd be no safer, and I'd be all the worse for it. I'd be worrying myself into a frenzy, and I'd be so afraid, Mr. Frodo. What is the Shire without you in it? It's no home to me, if you follow me, sir. And even the Shire's not safe from the Shadow. But don't you see, Mr. Frodo? Where do I belong if not right here, right beside you? I'm your Sam, Mr. Frodo, and that's the way it's meant to be. The Shire doesn't matter. I'd be worse off there, alone, afraid, not knowing where you are or what's become of you, then here by your side, where I know I can protect you."  
  
Fresh tears have fallen down my cheeks down, but I cannot take my eyes off of you. Oh Sam, what did I ever do to deserve your faithfulness, your unfailing love? What did I do that you would leave our beloved home without question to instead fight off orcs for me and walk to the cracks of Mount Doom beside me? Oh Sam, my dear, sweet Sam...  
  
"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I said. . .I. . ."  
  
I can't find one sentence to choke out between sobs that is complete enough to say all that I want to and need to say, so instead I throw my arms around your neck. I feel your hands rest on my back, so reassuring.  
  
"There, there, Mr. Frodo, I understand.don't cry. Your Sam's here, and he's not leaving you."  
  
'"Don't you leave him, Samwise Gamgee.' And I don't meant to."'  
  
No greater promise has ever been made. 


End file.
